


Sherlock and the Christmas Invasion

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: When Paths Collide [5]
Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alien Spaceships, Aliens, Crossover, Curious Sherlock, Frustrated John, M/M, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Skewed Timelines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6346459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is on the trail of the mysterious man with the blue box, but he's nowhere to be seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock and the Christmas Invasion

Sherlock and the Christmas Invasion

 

“John, you are being ridiculous.”

“No, I'm not. It's a normal activity for 2 people to partake in. Especially at Christmas.”

“Well, I'm not normal. I'm a consulting detective and therefore unique.”

“You are most definitely unique. Uniquely annoying.” The doctor sighed. “Just put your coat on.”

He folded his arms. “I don't want to.”

“If you don't put your coat on and come Christmas shopping with me, I'll send Mrs. Hudson up to keep you company. You can hear all about Mrs. Turner's couple and their holiday plans.”

“John! You wouldn't.”

In answer, John slipped his coat on and started towards the door. “Mrs. Hudson!”

“No, no, no, John wait!”

He scrambled to his feet and snatched his Belstaff from the hook.

“And what else?”

“I'm sorry.”

Sherlock apologised, just in time for Mrs. Hudson to appear at the bottom of the stairs.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Hudson,” John greeted her cheerfully. “Sherlock and I are doing some shopping today. Do you need us to pick up anything while we're out?”

Their landlady gave him a pleased smile. “Oh, thank you dear, but I don't need anything. You two have a good time.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I already told John it would be mind-numbingly dull.”

“Would it be ok if he stayed with you for a few hours, Mrs. H? You could make him eat food and drink tea.”

“Actually, it's not boring,” Sherlock changed his mind, quickly. “It will be fine.”

“Thought so.” John shared a conspiratorial grin with Mrs. Hudson.

Before more words could be exchanged, Sherlock swept around them and out the door.

“Laters.” The doctor felt a fond pat on his shoulder as he walked by Mrs. Hudson and onto the pathway.

Sherlock had used his magic and already conjured a cab from nowhere.

When John joined him it was to find the detective sat at the other side of the seat with his arms folded and a large pout on his face.

“God, you are such a child,” John observed. “Do I need to find you a Father Christmas so you can sit on his lap?”

The detective glared at him in the reflection of the car window. “Pointless.”

“Probably,” the doctor agreed. “You have been a naughty boy this year.”

“Why are you being mean?” He growled.

“Being mean? Me?”

“Yes, it's not my fault shopping is boring.”

John grabbed Sherlock's hand. “Maybe I can make it up to you by being naughty with you later.”

Sherlock sniffed.

“Very, very naughty,” the doctor tried as he scooted closer to his boyfriend.

Now the detective gave a chuckle. “Maybe I'll let you try.”

The cab came to a halt. “We're here,” the cabbie announced.

“Now who's being mean?” Sherlock whispered even as John leant forward to pay.

When the detective climbed out he froze as he heard a brass band.

“What is it?” John asked, joining him as the cab drove off.

“I used to be in a brass band when I was in school.”

“Really. You?” John shook his head in disbelief. “What did you play?”

“Trombone.”

“Of course you did what with those ridiculously long arms.” John looked around, finally sighting the band. He gave a shudder. “Those Father Christmas masks are rather creepy.”

Despite what he had said, he quickly became distracted by the stalls selling all sorts of random touristy stuff.

Sherlock, however, couldn't take his eyes off the masks, there was something odd about them… something not quite right.

Sherlock's gaze flicked about, as he tried to make sense of the bizarre band. His eyes fell on a couple that was wandering about. It was the blonde woman and one of the men that he had seen in Cardiff during the Blaidd Drwg incident. Without thinking, his feet took him in their direction. He soon left John behind - the doctor too absorbed in what he was looking at to notice.

He couldn't get close enough to make out what they were saying because it was too busy, but he could keep them in sight. He should have told John but he hadn't seen the pair or the man in the leather jacket for months.

The oddest thing about the couple was how ordinary they were. They were clearly involved in a long term relationship, but something was straining it at the edges. They walked sometimes hand in hand, sometimes not and their discussion appeared to be animated. The man especially.

Just as a gap appeared in front of him and he was about to step forward and speak to them he was snagged by the collar.

“John!” He complained.

“What are you doing?” John hissed. “One moment you were there, then the next, poof. It's not like you have a case on.”

“It's just...”

Abruptly, screams broke out. Both Sherlock and John looked in the direction of the panic as flame poured forth first from the bell of the brass band's trombone, then from the other instruments. The attack seemed focused to the detective, not random at all.

He tried to run towards it, to find that mysterious couple that had disappeared, but John still had his collar. He shook him.

“What are you? A bloody idiot?”

“John, it's-”

“Fucking stupid running towards the danger.”

“It's what we do!” Sherlock gave another heave as he tried to get away.

A blast of heat swept in their direction and John pulled them both to the ground just avoiding the pyre of a falling, blazing Christmas tree. In the moments that followed, all that could be heard were the crackling flames as the tree burnt and the panicked screams of the pedestrians.

John managed to keep a hold of Sherlock for a few more seconds, but when he fought his way free he was off again. When John caught up, he was knelt down next to a mask… it looked like it came from one of the Santas.

There was a blue flash of light, brief, but intense.

The detective looked up. “Where's the body?” Sherlock stood and stalked towards the burning Christmas tree, getting so close he could feel the heat drying his skin. “John. Where's the body?! It should be there, in the flames, but it's not.” He whirled back around. “He's here, somewhere. I know he is.”

The doctor looked at him without comprehension. “Who's here?” He looked around, but saw no one of interest.

Sherlock was bouncing on his toes. “The man in the leather coat, obviously.”

“Right. Obviously. I think you're starting to-”

“I'm not starting to do anything!” Sherlock snapped. “That girl was here! The blonde one that was in Cardiff.”

“Bloody hell.” John dry washed his face. “You're not going to let this go, then.” He looked around at the mass carnage. “Will you at least call Mycroft?”

Sherlock snorted and started walking away with long strides, the Santa mask in hand.

“Right. I didn't think so,” John muttered to himself. He pulled his phone from his pocket and speed dialled Mycroft.

When Sherlock realised he was walking alone, he turned and saw John, his phone to his ear.

“What are you doing?!” He yelled, moving to snatch the phone but the doctor stepped back.

“The Guinevere One? And other strange Santa sightings? What can they possibly have to do with one another?” John held up is hand to stay Sherlock's interruption. “Yes, I know what you two say about coincidence, but... Right. Fine.” He rang off.

Sherlock barked an impatient, “Well?”

“Mycroft said more Santas have been seen across London. It's as if they're looking for something. He thinks the Mars probe is somehow connected.”

“Which means... Oh! Aliens. Again! Come along, John.” Sherlock took off at a sprint.

“Wait! I promised... Dammit.” John took off after him.

Up ahead Sherlock spotted the mysterious couple racing towards a cab. They clambered inside and slammed the door.

“John! Come on!” He stopped the next cab and climbed in. He tapped impatiently until John joined him and then Sherlock waved a warrant card at the driver, it looked like Greg's. “Follow that cab.”

The doctor groaned at the clichéd statement, but what else was Sherlock supposed to say? Head resting in one hand, John asked, “Please, promise you'll at least be careful.”

Sherlock's knee bounced. “I'm always careful.” At his boyfriend's harsh laugh, he turned to look at him. “I assure you, I have no desire to be incinerated or blown up, but this... this is big, John.”

“This is also more dangerous than it's ever been.”

The detective shrugged. “You're boring me.”

“You know what? I actually like boredom. Not all the time, mind, but I do like nice boring Christmases where the biggest excitement is finally learning what your boyfriend has got you as a gift.”

“I haven't got you anything. Yet.”

“Not the point.”

They pulled up outside the Powell estate. “I knew it,” Sherlock cried with delight, he climbed from the cab leaving John to pay and raced off.

The doctor growled and raced off after him.

“How'd you know we'd come here?”

“This is where we came a few months ago.”

They paused where there was a group of four people, one in his pyjamas coming out of a flat.

John quickly hid behind the wall. Sherlock was looking over the rail at the three Santas that had come from nowhere.

Sherlock swore under his breath at being too far away to hear what the four people were saying. He watched as the pyjama clad man raised an arm and pointed with... something. The three Santas backed away and moved closer to each other, then white-blue light enveloped each one and they disappeared. “See, John! I told you. Aliens!”

He quickly ducked out of sight before his noise could draw attention, but pyjama man was on the floor, the others gathered around him.

Sherlock itched to go talk to the man, but his phone buzzed angrily, or so it seemed. He ignored it which meant John's phone started ringing. The doctor answered it. Sherlock growled. It was no doubt, Mycroft, telling them to get into the black sedan that had just pulled up on the street below.

The four people had disappeared back into a flat anyway. Sherlock growled in frustration and smacked the wall with the palm of his hand.

“Tell my brother to piss off.”

John grabbed him by the collar. “Nope. He doesn't want to freeze you out of this. He wants you with him. I think... He sounded nervous, 'Lock. Mycroft! Nervous.”

“Mycroft's always nervous when I skip out of his minions' surveillance.”

The doctor didn't care for arguments, just dragged him back towards the stairs.

“John!” Sherlock yelled.

The doctor ignored him. As they approached the car, Anthea stepped out of it and opened the back door without looking up from her phone.

“Hello, Anthea,” John said as he shoved Sherlock into the back seat.

“Doctor Watson,” she acknowledged. “It's interesting, isn't it?”

John paused, startled by actually having the woman talk to him. “What is?”

“The alien from the transmission.” She glanced at him briefly. “Of course. You haven't seen it yet. It was on BBC1.”

He shut the door so Sherlock couldn't hear.

“Where are you taking us?”

Before she got a chance to reply John spotted his boyfriend trying to creep out the other door.

“Bloody hell. Sherlock! Wait, for once.”

“Why?”

John's shoulders slumped. “Go ahead and tell him about the transmission.”

Anthea frowned at her phone. “That idiot woman, Jones.” The PA shook her head. “She could have come up with a better cover up. Students hijacking the airwaves, indeed.”

“What cover up?” Sherlock had come around the car. In one swift motion, he swiped her phone from her hands and walked a few feet away. The Broadcast on her mobile held his complete attention.

Knowing for a fact if he let Sherlock out of his sight for just a moment he'd be off again, especially with extra information, he grabbed him and shoved him back in the car. He was still holding Anthea's phone.

“So where are we going?” John tried again.

“UNIT,” came Anthea's one word reply.

“Oh, Ta. Now I know exactly where we're going.” John's voice dripped sarcasm. “I suppose Mycroft will meet us there.”

“No, Doctor Watson. We'll be collecting him from the Diogenes as well as Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

The car slowed at a traffic light and Sherlock tried the car door. It was locked.

“Now what's the hurry?” John grumbled, irritated.

“Things to do John!”

“For once, just once, will you stop being a moron? Your brother has requested our presence to help. Not to lock us in some dungeon again.”

Sherlock crossed his arms. “He just wants to keep me in sight.”

Before long, they pulled up outside the Diogenes where Mycroft and Greg were waiting for them. The elder Holmes approached the car, tapping his umbrella on the pathway as he walked.

Greg beat Anthea to the car door and held it open for his boyfriend. “Hi, John,” he said as he slid into the car and sat next to Mycroft. “How's yours doing? Mine's jittery. It's actually rather creepy.”

“Mine’s a whooping great pain in the arse.”

“With my phone.” Anthea reached through from the front and snatched it from Sherlock's closed fist.

The car sped away, breaking just about every law pertaining to the road and nearly causing John to have a heart attack. “Jesus, Mycroft! Are we trying to avert another world war?”

“Very possibly something worse. I can't be certain, yet.” Mycroft frowned. “And I fear our Prime Minister may be making an egregious mistake.”

“Such as?”

“Such as making contact.”

“They sent a probe into space,” Sherlock pointed out as if it was obvious. “This is what they wanted.”

Mycroft snorted. “Knowing what I know, I can't help but think they were idiots to desire that. We're not ready to face what is out there.”

Sherlock leant forward in his seat. “And what is that, brother-mine? Please, do tell.”

Mycroft opened his mouth and then closed it again. “We are going to UNIT, little brother. You'll find out everything you need to know there.”

The car pulled into an underground car park. They got out and followed Mycroft, who had set a brisk pace. After navigating a few hallways and checkpoints, they emerged into the room full of state of the art electronics. It seemed like a war room - a room from which the fate of nations was determined, only this was far more serious than that. This was the fate of the world.

Sherlock immediately rushed forward to the nearest computer, and started tapping away.

Two soldiers stepped forward and pulled him back, making his arms uncomfortable up his back.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Major Blake.”

A tall man turned from talking to the prime minister and spotted his men ruffling up the youngest Holmes, treating him like the common criminal.

The Major didn't automatically order him released. It was clear Mycroft was still powerful but here was anybody in the country who had equal power to the eldest Holmes. “I thought you didn't want him involved, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft nodded. “I didn't, but circumstances have forced my hand. Better he be here to see what is happening than out there.” He waved his hand, indicating the rest of the world. “Making things worse.”

“Ah. I see.” The Major motioned his men to let Sherlock go.

Sherlock took the two steps to his brother and whispered in his ear. “I am telling Mummy.”

“Sherlock, don't make me have your memory wiped,” Mycroft said with a single raised eyebrow. “Now, make yourself useful. Figure out what these messages we're receiving say.”

Sherlock pushed a young man in a suit out of a chair and sat down, tapping away at the keyboard.

“Alex, have you got the translat- who are you?”

Sherlock looked up. “Who are you?” He countered.

John palmed his face.

“Harriet Jones, Prime Minister.”

“Hmm.” Sherlock looked back at the screen. The translation algorithm wasn't bad. It wasn't good either. He set to work making modifications to it. It took an eternity - all of 5.4 minutes. “There.” He pushed back from the laptop, frowning at the odd message. He watched the screen, reading the message 3 times.

“Cattle?” He turned to his doctor. “Isn't that like cows and stuff?”

“Yes.” John frowned. “Cows and stuff, easily led to slaughter.” He shuddered.

Alex grabbed the laptop and conferred with Harriet. She ordered a message be delivered: “This is a day of peace on planet Earth. We extend that peace to the Sycorax. This planet is armed and we do not surrender.”

Alex had been typing it out as she spoke and hit send before Mycroft could intervene.

“No, don't!”

Sherlock looked up at the actual desperation in Mycroft's voice.

“You've just started something you don't have the power to stop.”

After a few minutes, a reply came back... of sorts. On a screen one of the aliens, a Sycorax, held out his hand. A blue light seemed to surround his hand for a moment. Chaos erupted as everyone tried to make sense of it.

Sherlock frowned as he saw a similar light appear around several individuals' heads, including John. He took a step closer to the doctor and grabbed his shoulder. John didn't seem to notice, just turned and walked away.

“John!”

Sherlock raced after him and stood in front. But the doctor completely blanked him, just walked around and followed the others.

“Myc,” he sounded like a child. “Do something!”

Greg actually reached out and grabbed John's arm, trying to stop him. That proved to be a mistake as the doctor casually knocked him to the ground and kept walking.

“'Lock, there's nothing I can do.” Mycroft grabbed his brother by the shoulders. “If we try to stop him, someone will get hurt. John will get hurt.”

“There's always something! You always do something! Always fix stuff!” He struggled out of his older brother's grip and followed his boyfriend, ignoring all the other people also heading up the stairs.

Mycroft stared after his brother's retreating form. Just as he took a step to follow, Anthea spoke, “Mr. Holmes, I took the liberty of checking on the Royal family.”

“They're not...”

“Yes, sir. They've been affected too.”

Mycroft spun and stared at a nearby station with several CCTV displays. The displays showed dozens of people climbing onto rooftops, fire escapes, any high location and just stopping at the edge.

On the CCTV above the building they were in Sherlock was there, with John on the edge. He bit down the lump in his throat. This wouldn't just be the end of John… if John jumped, his little brother would follow, without a doubt. He turned to the prime minister.

“Are you happy now? This is your fault! And God help me if something happens to my little brother.”

Harriet drew herself up, looking down her nose at Mycroft despite the difference in their height. “Your brother is the least of my concerns. I've heard about him, he's a trouble maker at best. We'd be better off without him anyway.” She turned her back on him.

“Oh, dear lady, you have made a mistake.” The look Mycroft gave her should have caused her to howl in pain it was so cold. “When this is over, your tenure as Prime Minister will come to an end.” He had spoken so low that only Anthea and Greg had heard him. Neither of them doubted his words. “And if anything happens to my baby brother, your fate will be far worse,” he repeated his threat. He turned to the greying haired DI. “Go and get my brother. We've got work to do. Arrest him if you need to.”

“Work like what?”

“We're going to save John and the Royal family. The rest I'll let Him deal with. Now go and read my brother his rights or whatever it is you say.”

Greg shook his head, but didn't dare argue with his boyfriend not when he was in this dangerous a mood. He took off outside, following the trail of the few stragglers who were making their way to the rooftops. Once he walked out onto the roof, it didn't take long for him to find both his friends. John was standing at the very precipice, looking for all the world like he intended to jump. Sherlock was stood by his side, pleading with him to step back.

“They won't come back, Sherlock.”

“Piss off!”

“You need to come back inside, 'Lock. We'll save him.”

Sherlock turned, his glare almost as ice cold as Mycroft's. “Make me,” he hissed, he faced John again and gripped his hand in his own.

The DI sighed. “Sherlock, I'm sorry for this.”

Greg jerked out his handcuffs and fastened them around one of Sherlock's wrists. The detective jerked away, the cuffs dangling freely.

“I won't leave him!” Sherlock shouted.

“For God's sake, Sherlock! He needs you down there, inside, figuring out why this is happening so we can get him down from here.”

“I'm not leaving him!” He repeated.

“For God’s sake.” Greg grabbed his other wrist and slipped it into the cuff. “Come on.” At his further protests the DI sighed and kneed him in the balls, not hard but enough to grab his attention.

Sherlock doubled over, leaving Greg free to grab his cuffed wrists and drag him towards the door they'd come out of, at the same time as pushing through all the people trying to keep the soldiers from the edge.

As they re-entered headquarters, Sherlock heard someone say, “A Positive. That's it. They're all A Positive.”

The detective looked around and saw that his brother had heard the pronouncement as well. He saw a flicker of something cross Mycroft's face and his heart leapt with hope.

Sherlock rushed over to Mycroft's side. “You have an idea.”

“Yes.” Mycroft looked around the room. “Come, Gregory, make a point of dragging my brother out will you?”

“What? Why?” Sherlock argued.

“Because it will give us a valid reason to leave. Now do it!”

Sherlock raised his voice in mock protest as Lestrade twisted his cuffed arm behind him and 'forced' him towards the door.

“Apologies for my brother's bad behaviour. I'll see to him.” Mycroft followed the other two men from the room.

“Oh, and Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft wasn't the only one who stopped. Sherlock tried to turn, but the DI's grip on his cuffed wrists were too tight.

“Yes, prime minister?” He made a point of his fake smile.

“When this is all over you'll be relieved of position.”

“I highly doubt that, Miss Jones.” With that announcement Mycroft followed the others outside.

“This is merely for show, Sherlock,” Greg growled as Sherlock thrashed in his grip.

“No, it's not, you're getting back at me for telling you to piss off.”

Greg shook his head and went to uncuff him.

“No,” Mycroft paused him. “A) the cuffs make it makes it more viable. B) He won't think of running off for our leather jacket friend like that.”

“I haven't seen him, Myc! He wasn't with the others,” Sherlock protested. “Besides, I wouldn't run off and leave John. Please! Just tell me what your idea is.”

“In the car,” Mycroft hissed in a low tone.

Sighing, but not protesting anymore, he let Greg manhandle him into the car.

Mycroft had dismissed all his minions except Anthea so it was just the four of them, with the eldest driving. He waited until they were well away from UNIT before he spoke. “Yes, little brother, I have a plan. There's a device… it can be used to mask antigens and antibodies in the blood. I never understood why it would be useful, but... We have several. We need to get one on John and the Royals.”

“And if that doesn't work?” Sherlock wasn't putting much trust in what he was sure would be an alien device.

“We inject them with enough blood of a different type to mask the control.”

Sherlock wriggled, making the handcuffs jingle. “Mycroft, get these things off of me. I swear, I won't run.”

His brother looked at him long and hard in the mirror, then gave Greg a brisk nod.

The DI sighed with relief. He hated being caught between the two Holmses.

“But know this, Sherlock, if you step out of my sight I won't hesitate to lock you up in a place you won't be able to get out of. Without John.”

Sherlock licked his lips almost nervously. He nodded.

“No, little brother. I need to hear you say it.”

“Alright. I won't step out of your sight. I promise.”

He leant forward and let Greg uncuff him, bringing his wrists around to rub them. “I would have thought these devices would be back there at... What was it? UNIT?”

Mycroft smirked, “Some things I keep even from them. What we need will be back at my office. Well... under it.”

“So you're not just the British Government. You're World Dominant.”

Mycroft gave his brother a look.

“What? I think it's catchy.”

“You're taking this remarkably well,” Mycroft said after a few moments consideration.

“Why wouldn't I?”

“Because your boyfriend is on the roof.”

“And you said you can fix that.”

This time Mycroft looked towards the DI who was sat contemplating everything Mycroft had said in the last couple of minutes. “And that's it?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn't I trust you with this? You're my brother.”

Mycroft closed his eyes, almost driven to utter a silent prayer that he wouldn't fail his brother. If he did, he knew he would lose him forever. “Thank you, 'Lock.”

Mycroft pulled up outside the club and immediately walked off around the back.

The others followed him, but Greg became easily distracted by all the people on the edges of the nearby buildings.

It was Anthea who noticed and took Greg by the arm to urge him along. Mycroft and Sherlock were waiting just inside the door for them to catch up, holding it open for them.

“Sorry,” the DI apologised. “It's just creepy with them standing up there like that.

“Yeah, and so is John.”

Sherlock walked off ahead of them until he realised that only Mycroft knew where these things were.

At a heavy looking door, Mycroft stopped and stepped up for a retinal scan. “Even you can't get around this security measure, baby brother.”

Sherlock looked on. “Not without taking your eye. Unfortunately, that would upset Mummy.”

The door clicked open and they stepped into a room full of strange gadgets. Anthea didn't. She waited outside.

Sherlock peered out at her as Mycroft flicked on the lights.

“So secret you don't even trust your PA.”

“Trust, when you're in my position, is an illusion.”

Greg had moved forward to pick up a weird box. “You know, Myc, this isn't quite the Christmas I was expecting.”

Mycroft smiled thinly. “Nor I.” He reached out and carefully extracted the box from his boyfriend's hand. “Please, don't touch anything. I would prefer London to remain intact. This could take out a 6 block radius.”

Sherlock joined the pair looking around at the extent of the room. “How do you know what it does?” He nodded at the box Mycroft had just taken from the DI.

“Let's just say a friend passed on the information.”

Almost out of nowhere the entire room began to shake, the lighter items on the shelves started to bounce off.

“Sonic wave,” Sherlock said, looking around.

Anthea poked her head in. “You might want to see this, sir.” For once her phone wasn't in sight.

The three men stepped outside. The sight that greeted them was stunning - an enormous space craft hovered over London. It was so huge that it blocked the rays of the dawning sun.

Greg spoke in an awed tone, “Bloody hell.”

Mycroft's mouth thinned into a white line. “We need to hurry, we're running out of time.”

“For what?”

“Them!” He spat, for the first time in a log time Mycroft ran. He ran deep into the room, searching.

He came back with a black bag that contained several of the devices. He dug his hand into the bag and dug out one, handing it to Sherlock. “Go!!! Anthea, Gregory, you’re with me.”

“What do we do when I get to him?”

“Good point. Anthea take my brother, and have another car come for me and Gregory.”

“What's happening, Myc?”

“If the prime minister attempts to talk to them, the whole planet will not be able to cope.”

“But she's-”

“A completely imbecile. Now go Sherlock! I'll see you in a while,” he added more gently as his brother raced off to the sedan.

The detective sprinted to the car, Anthea right behind. He resisted the urge to tell her to hurry - the woman had spun out and bullied her way into traffic with her horn blaring. She blew through several traffic lights, barely pausing to check for oncoming traffic, and pulled up outside UNIT headquarters with a screech of tyres as the car slid to a stop.

Sherlock leapt from the car and charged up the nearest stairs to the rooftop. In moments he was at John's side.

He stared at the odd looking device. “What do I do with it?” He yelled at the oncoming Anthea.

“Give it here.” She snatched it off her and fiddled with it before slipping it in the doctor's pocket.

John's body lost its zombie like stance. He blinked and took a stumbling step back, looking around himself. “What the hell? How did I get up... Umph.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor and pulled him further from the edge of the roof. “They were going to make you jump?”

“I don't know what they wanted.” He tried to pull Sherlock back to arm’s length to look at him, but the detective had him in an iron clad grip. “Who's they anyway?”

“Don't care,” he whispered, squeezing even tighter.

John shook his head, which was buried in his boyfriend's chest. When Sherlock finally let him go, he looked up, expecting to see that clouds had rolled in. Instead, he saw the spaceship. “Oh. Them,” he said numbly. John looked back at Sherlock and noticed the other people on the roof. “What's wrong with these people?”

“They're going to try to make them all jump, 1/3 of the population, all blood type A positive.”

“So my sister is up on the roof somewhere?”

Sherlock didn't know what to say.

“What about Greg and Mycroft?”

“They're fine they've gone to the King or something.”

John nodded once not even bothering to change his boyfriends 'king' statement. “Good. Good.” He was still clearly worried about Harry. “What about everyone else?”

“Mycroft said the rest were up to 'Him' to save. He had to be talking about the man in the leather coat.”

“But Harry!”

“I don't know where she is, John. If you know where to find her...” Sherlock glanced at Anthea. “Do you have another of those gadgets?”

Anthea looked regretful. “Sorry, Sir, and you know I can't get back into that room.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and started tapping out a message, but got bored half way through and decided to ring his brother instead. Sherlock's finger was about to hit ring when the people around them started moving. It was mass confusion as some of them screamed and others started demanding answers of the people around them.

“What?” Sherlock turned to the doctor who was halfway through the door.

“What was the point in you saving me?” John asked, disbelieving. “If everyone is okay anyway.”

“Do keep up, John. We didn't know if they would be okay. How could we?” He stepped closer to John, his voice going soft. “I couldn't wait, couldn't risk losing you.”

“But losing everyone else is okay?”

Sherlock frowned. “The King and stuff would have been fine. It's only pure luck that Mycroft had something that could fix it or it could have been painful.”

“Painful?”

Sherlock looked away. “You weren't going anywhere without me.”

“'Lock... No. Just no.” John's fingers dug into Sherlock's arms where he had gripped them. “You can't say things like that.”

“So I should lie?”

“Yes. No! Just… if our conversation veers near this topic again, you have my permission to sulk and not give me an answer.”

Sherlock embraced John again, fiercely. When he let go, something caught his eye - there was an object falling towards the earth from the spaceship above. He turned and ran for the stairs, determined to find whatever it was before it could be hidden. “John! Hurry!”

“Wha-”

But Sherlock had already gone, apparently everything was back to normal.

As Sherlock reached the fallen thing his brother climbed from the car that had pulled up alongside.

Mycroft walked to his brother's side and looked down at the creature. “Well. Now you've seen. You have an idea what is out there.”

“Myc,” Sherlock crouched down by the broken body. “It's... incredible.” As he reached out to touch it, a hand closed around his wrist. Sherlock looked up. “You can't ask me to turn away from this, Myc. You can't.”

“I have to. This is beyond my jurisdiction.”

“Nothing is beyond your jurisdiction!”

“Sherlock, I have to let UNIT deal with this.”

Several men swooped down on them, four of them pointing guns in Sherlock's direction. He stood, hands in the air, and backed away.

“It's not fair, Mycroft. This is the biggest thing to happen in... ever.”

The Government Official looked at his brother, regret written on his face. “I'm sorry, 'Lock. Truly.”

“No you're not!” He snapped.

“Sherlock, I am.”

He took his brother by the elbow and led him away, “let's get you and John home.”

They all ducked instinctively when five points of green light shot up and met at a point over London. That same green light shot up from the focal point and into space, hitting the spaceship and destroying it.

Mycroft was the first to stand straight. In a rare show of frustration, he swore, “Damn that woman. He'll be furious.”

Both John and Sherlock were gaping upwards alike.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft tried. “Sherlock, get in the car!”

“What?” He turned to see that even John had climbed into the back seat.

“Where are we going?”

“UNIT.”

“Why?” He asked as the doctor moved incredibly close to him, almost pressing him into the door. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling his head to his chest.

“Because that woman will not be the prime minister tomorrow.”

“Wrong direction, then, brother-mine. She'll be at the Powell Estate.”

Mycroft spun the car around before he questioned his little brother. “How on earth could you possibly know that?”

“Well, you're saying He saved everyone and his friends were at the Powell Estate.”

“But the leather jacket man wasn't,” John pointed out. “Some guy in pyjamas and some older woman was there instead. And that handsome guy had vanished.”

“Bollocks!” Mycroft snapped, actually hitting the steering wheel with his hand.

“What is it, Myc?” Greg reached his arm over and squeezed his boyfriend's thigh, fondly.

“He's done it again.”

Sherlock frowned. “He's done what again? And who the hell is 'He', Mycroft? Really. Don't lie to me.”

The elder Holmes brother glanced at Greg for support. The DI gave it in the form of taking Mycroft's hand, though he didn't know the secrets his boyfriend was hiding.

“I won't lie to you, 'Lock, but I can't tell you.”

“Can't or won't?”

Mycroft awkwardly tugged his hand back to change gear. “Both. Can't because he's too much… trouble and won't for the exact opposite.”

“Mycroft. I'm too much trouble.”

“'Lock… what you do is different. If you got involved with him you're one step closer to his trouble.”

“But surely if we're going towards the Powell Estate to see the prime minister, he's going to be there? That's how Sherlock knew where they'd be.”

Mycroft glanced at his boyfriend and then over his shoulder at his brother and John.

“Good point.”

The government official sighed. “I can tell you this much: he is the champion of the weak and innocent, he is mercurial, he is there one moment and gone the next and he seems to be the target of every great evil that has ever arisen.” He glanced up in the mirror to look at Sherlock. “I make it a point not to get in his way. Ever. Do you understand me, 'Lock?”

Sherlock frowned. “Then why are we going after him?”

“We're not. He'll be gone by the time we get to Harriet Jones.”

“What are you going to do to her, Myc?” Greg asked, looking across at him, slightly nervously.

“Do to her? Nothing. I'll simply offer her a ride...” Mycroft smiled a rare predatory smile, “and some advice. Which I seriously doubt she'll accept.”

As they approached the Powell estate they spotted a car which looked a lot like the prime ministers.

“That's her,” Mycroft said, pulling in behind it so they could follow her.

The four men climbed from the car and approached the Prime Minister who was walking rapidly towards a man and shouting, “Alex, you have to tell me what he said!”

The man was about to answer when Mycroft interceded. “'Ah, Miss. Jones.” He looked in the direction she had come from and saw no one. “You've made a serious error, haven't you? You should have known better than to upset Him.”

“I didn't upset him!” Her voice was like a squawk. “I was protecting this planet's people.”

“That was not your call to make! They were leaving.”

“That's exactly what he said.”

Mycroft smiled thinly. “Might I suggest you cut your losses and resign? It would be the prudent thing to do.”

“Who do you think you are?!”

Mycroft turned to face Alex. “If you wish to distance yourself from the coming debacle, we would be happy to offer you a lift.”

“Alex is my right hand man, he wouldn't leave after this crisis.”

Alex looked between the British Government and the Nearly No Longer Prime Minister.

“I'm afraid you brought this on yourself,” he said quietly, moving to join Mycroft and the others.

Alex and Mycroft got in the car. The elder Holmes gave the other man a considering look. “So, what did he say?”

Alex looked uncomfortable. “Just that she looks tired.” He bit his lip. “Did you see how she came apart?”

“Yes.” Mycroft grinned. “I think we can work with that.”

“Damn. Mycroft!” John stuck his head in the car. “Sherlock's gone.”

Mycroft growled and got out, looking up both directions of the street.

“Bloody hell. But where's he gone?”

“We're about a mile from the Powell Estate aren't we?” The doctor asked of Alex.

The young man nodded.

“Then that's where.”

“Gregory, John, go after him,” Mycroft ordered. “Wait. John, you saw the man that Sherlock mentioned, the one in pyjamas. Don't let my brother make contact with him.”

The doctor nodded. “Right.” Together, he and Greg ran towards the Powell Estate as fast as they could. Once there, John looked around. “We'd best split up.”

Adrenaline pumping neither of them found themselves tired.

“I want to head towards the flat they were in,” John said and then was off, leaving the DI to go in the other direction.

He found Sherlock skulking about the flat, just as expected. John crept up silently and grabbed the detective by the collar and pulled him away from the window through which he had been peering. “You're too much, you know that,” John hissed quietly.

“John I-”

“Save it. You are in so much trouble and not just with me.”

Sherlock tried his best to pull free, but John was having none of it as he grabbed a flailing arm and rammed it up this back. He used his free hand to phone Greg.

The DI grabbed his phone and answered it. “Did you find him?” He sagged with relief at John's affirmative and changed direction towards the flat his friend had specified.

Shaking his head wanly as he approached the two men, Greg pulled out his cuffs. On sight of them, Sherlock sighed angrily. He stepped up and allowed John to assist him in getting them on the detective.

Sherlock glared at them both. “I swear, John, no sex for a week, no a month, maybe longer. And you... Solve your own cases, Detective Inspector.”

“I will, ta.”

Greg took one of Sherlock's arms and John took the other. Together they dragged him back towards where Mycroft and Alex waited.

Off to the right, the sound of voices drifted to them. Sherlock recognised one of them as belonging to the younger blonde woman. With sudden force, he broke away and ran in that direction, his hands still cuffed behind his back. As he rounded the corner, he saw the man he had seen earlier in the day, but he was no longer wearing pyjamas - he had on a pinstripe suit, a long brown leather coat and, good lord, were those trainers? The blonde was with him as well and they were approaching the by now familiar blue police box. How had he missed that earlier? Before he could approach he was grabbed again.

“For fuck's sake!” Sherlock yelled in frustration.

He managed to get one more look at where the blue box was… no had been. It had gone. “What the-” the two other people that had been with them were walking back towards the steps. But he couldn't look closer he was being pulled back in the direction of where they had been headed just as the sedan pulled up.

Greg opened the back door and shoved the detective in, sliding onto the seat next to him. John wedged him in on the opposite side.

Sherlock huffed and scowled at the same time. “I hate you, Mycroft.”

“No you don't,” his brother said as he hung up his phone. “Anthea did an excellent job. Miss. Jones' suitability as Prime Minister has already been called into question. It was on the news just minutes ago.”

“I don't care.” He was pissed off that he couldn't look out the window in a pensive mood and instead stared at his legs, ignoring the cuffs keeping his arms behind him. There wasn't a hope in hell they'd let him go and he wasn't about to speak to any of them.

Sherlock made himself a promise - he'd find the mysterious owner of the blue box. There would come a time when Mycroft blinked and he'd be ready. He would.


End file.
